Mutilation
by Vienna Deliny
Summary: They're so madly in love that it hurts. Abusive Kenman fic. Rated M for blood and violence.


I'm blacking out. The noise of bones crunching gets more and more distant with every blow. He's still hitting me; I can feel it. In the same way you would feel somebody patting your arm. He must have destroyed the nerve endings in my face. I can't see him anymore, the blood fills my eyes, but I know what he must look like. I've memorized every detail of his face. His perfect, proportional, angel-like face which clashes with the anger warping his features. I wish I could see it now. His chocolate brown eyes glazed over with concentration as he slams his bloodied knuckles into my face, right where my nose used to be, the amber specs that seem to drift toward the pupil ablaze. The skin on the bridge of his nose wrinkles up slightly in two small folds as he sneers. He sneers because he's disgusted. Because I'm worthless and pathetic and why don't I just fight back like the ghetto piece of shit that I am? It's because I've given up on resisting. He gets me into a corner, grabs onto the front of my worn parka and _splat _goes another spatter of blood on the beige-white walls. And he smiles. And I smile back, because I'm happy that he's happy, until he punches me again in the mouth, and again until I'm choking on my teeth. He makes sure I swallow them and the sharp roots scrape my throat on the way down. And then his smile turns into a sneer because this is the point that I stop struggling and take it. Like the poor bitch that I am. His sneering lips are always my favourite part of his beautiful face. The way one side of his lips pull back and up, twitching with joy at every blow. His teeth are white pearls that sparkle more than the gates of Heaven; I would know. His lips are always moist and a pale shade of pink. His hair frames his beautiful, angelic face perfectly. It isn't completely straight, and some people might say it's uneven in places. I think it looks wonderful; light brown locks that are the perfect length. The strands are just long enough that they barely graze his light eyelashes. It has a windblown effect, bangs that go across his forehead in a diagonal, always pointing to his left. His hair is blessed with a dull shine that doesn't look fake like the models of hair commercials. We used to laugh about those girls actually being aliens; bald aliens wearing wigs.

We used to do a lot of things together.

I remember everything so clearly. The first month we started dating. We were a really typical couple. Holding hands in public, secret pecks on the lips, teasing each other to the limits. Sometimes we'd go too far, and not even a full day later the offender would be on his knees with flowers or chocolate or something of the sorts; begging for forgiveness. We were that couple that were so in love that they couldn't be apart for more than a few hours – that we felt the need to remind each other of our undying love every five minutes.

It was funny how we got together. Two years ago today, when we were 17. There was nothing weird about it. I think, in truth, we both didn't think we would last as a couple.

I had come over to Eric's house to play some video games; not an unusual event. We made a dumb bet; whoever won the most rounds out of five could get the other to do whatever they wanted. With my lack of skills in the game -I don't have a Xbox One like he does- it wasn't a surprise that he won four of the games. Out of everything in the world he could have made me do, he told me to kiss him. I tried to; it wasn't a big deal for me. But he pushed me right off before there was any contact. I was oddly disheartened. He yelled at me, face red, that he was joking and he didn't think I would actually do it.

Later, though, he apologized and confessed that he really did want me to; that he was just scared and he panicked.

And then I kissed him.

It was incredible. I'd known the lips of nearly every person in South Park. But never did it feel so great. I didn't want to have to pull away. Eric hadn't kissed anyone since fourth grade, but I wouldn't have known. His soft lips moved so expertly against mine. It was passionate and I felt my mind start to melt. Every touch and squeeze he made, running his hands over my hips and legs, felt like electric shocks of ecstasy. I had no idea I had been missing so much.

After that we decided to just try it. We very quickly realized that we'd always loved each other; we just hadn't uncovered the deeper meaning behind our feelings.

Ever since preschool we had been best friends. Stan and Kyle were super butt-buddies, as Eric liked to call them, and often split up together; leaving the chubby brunet and I alone. We didn't mind. He became attached at the hip. Even through his relentless mocking and cruel sense of humour, I always knew I meant something to him. And he meant everything to me. It goes without saying that nobody was surprised when we came out as gay for each other.

Eric was the first real relationship I ever had. Nights of screwing around with random sluts and hooking up with people at parties were always fun for the moment but... nobody wanted to stay with me. I was the town whore. Everyone knew I was good for a fuck and that's it.

But Eric Cartman. He gave me my self-worth back. He treated me so kindly. He was still racist, Anti-Semitic, bigoted, and an all-around jerk... but not to me. The jokes about my poverty stopped. I stopped calling him fat. We went everywhere together. We cared about each other more than anything. He nearly had a heart attack once; when I cried out after cutting my finger while making a sandwich. He didn't even want to leave me alone in the kitchen again after that.

Some people may have thought we were annoyingly clingy to each other. But I didn't want to change a single thing about our relationship. It was perfect.

And then he proposed. I remember the tears streaming down my face. I could barely see. I was choking on happiness. He held me for a long time, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

The ring was beautiful. It wasn't flashy, it didn't have a huge diamond in the middle. It was simple, a black ring with a strip of silver going along the middle. I haven't taken it off yet.

We never did get married. About a week and a half before the wedding, I got a hysteric call from my fiancé. I ran over there as fast as I could and followed the sound of sobbing upstairs. Scenarios flashed through my mind. Bloody, terrifying, awful things. But I hadn't expected anything like what I saw. Eric's mother, Liane, lying completely still on the bathroom floor. It was an overdose. The sounds Eric made as he held her were horrifying. I didn't know what to say, what to do. He started screaming at me to help bring her back. I couldn't, I knew I couldn't. It seemed as if he blamed me. Suddenly he was on his feet and shoving me back into the wall. I could feel my heart rise into my throat. He demanded I tell him how to bring her back. If I could come back, why couldn't she? _Why couldn't she?! _

That was the first time Eric hit me. It hurt. Yes, the dull throbbing in the left side of my face was painful, but what really hurt was much deeper than that. I stared at him, unblinking, scared and feeling like I'd done something unforgivable when really I hadn't done anything wrong at all. I felt an unexplainable guilt seep through me. He kept looking at me like he didn't recognize me, and he raised his fist again almost experimentally. I cringed and waited for the second blow.

It didn't come. Instead I was dropped to the floor. I swallowed thickly and crawled away from him. He watched me go, a questioning look on his face. I had never been so terrified of him. I grabbed the nearest phone, called 911 and gave them the address of Eric's house. And then I left. Needless to say, the wedding was... postponed.

I didn't see Eric for a 8 days after that. He didn't answer my texts or calls, and he didn't come to school. I tried to go to his house but he never let me in.

And then one day, completely out of the blue, I was forcibly yanked away from a conversation with Bebe and Kyle. Before my brain could even process what was happening I was slammed against the cold, tiled walls of the boys' bathroom. Cartman was seething in front of me, pinning my shoulders to the wall. My mouth fell slightly open in shock. I started to say something before he slapped me across the face. My hand automatically went to clutch my stinging cheek. What had I done?! "You're mine, Kenneth," he growled out dangerously, "and mine only."

I looked at him in fear and in confusion. "I've always been yours, babe..." I said quietly. I'm scared he'll get angrier if I talk too loudly.

"Shut the fuck up!" he spat, "I know what you were thinking. You aren't allowed to talk to Kyle or Bebe anymore! You're not allowed to talk to _anyone _anymore! Only me! Got that?!" He slammed he against the wall again for emphasis.

I groaned, starting to feel dizzy. "Y-you can't just tell me..."

_Slam._

"_Yes, I can," _he hissed out, eyes narrowing, "You're the only person in the world I care about, Kenny. I'm not going to let you slip away from me. You don't need anybody else but me. You can talk to your family and teachers. _That's it. _Don't you _dare _disobey these orders, _or else."_

I found out what _"or else"_ meant the hard way.

He got more violent over the weeks. I learned not to disappear from him for too long; to never go near Kyle or Stan or anybody else again and to never take longer than 10 minutes to reply to his texts. At first I just dealt with it, thinking he was traumatized by the death of his mother and he needed some time to get everything straightened out.

But as the weeks turned to months it only got more apparent that the Eric I knew wasn't ever coming back/. He stopped saying he cared about me. He stopped saying he loved me. He stopped kissing me. He stopped holding my hand. He started punching me more. He started breaking my bones. Finally he started purposely beating me to death. I can't get away from him. I never can. I still love him. He needs me to be here for him. I forgive him for it.

Even now as he continues his never-ending attack, I love him.

Suddenly he stops and bends down low beside me, running a hand through my red-stained hair."I can't wait until you get back from Hell, Kenny..." he whispers to me.

I take this in the most reassuring way I can, finally letting myself slip into the sweet, familiar blanket of death.


End file.
